I should be working right now.

It’s a fucking Tuesday at 3pm. I should be in the office right now. Instead, I’m at the playground with The Wee One. She’s in full blown Toddle(r) mode so she requires constant supervision.

It just happens to be my shift. So here I am. Imposter Mom on the Playground. For the next two hours.

Have I mentioned that I should be working?

I believe they call this Mommy Guilt. The plight all working moms suffer from. If they’re with their kids, they feel guilty they’re not at the office. If they’re at the office, they feel like they’re neglecting their kids.

On behalf of working moms everywhere who are NOT Yahoo CEO Marissa Mayer who allegedly has a nursery in an adjoining suite to her mega office, I would like to go on record and say that working moms are the REAL heroes of the world. I salute you, Real Moms.

This is NOT Mommy Guilt. Because I’m not a real mom. I’m Imposter Mom.

This isn’t about shoulds. This is about wants.

I want to be at the office right now. I’d rather be working than chasing this toddling kid down the hill yet again as she…

Oh no she doesn’t…

Stumbles into the hippie mom circle we’ve successfully avoided until now.

Let me explain. These hippie moms are part of the fabric of our Bohemian neighborhood. Typically, they’re married to the musicians, filmmakers, and other creative types who’ve lived in our hood for the last twenty years (Long before I ever considered the ‘hood cool, so who’s the jerk in this scenario? Moi, as usual.).

Ever the charmer, the hippie moms LOVE The Wee One. She walks right up to one hippie mom, grabs her hand, smiles, and the whole circle Awws…

Immediately, I apologize for the intrusion.

The hippie moms wave off my Imposter Mom neurosis, inviting me to join their intimate circle of hippie dippiness. (The Wee One is already one of them, natch)

Awkwardly I sit Indian style in the little space between two of the women, completing the circle.

You know that Sesame Street song One of these things is not like the other?

That would be me in the hippie mom circle. While these effortlessly thin, long hair flowing, goddessy girls talk about the latest show their husbands played or how they’re teaching their newborn sign language – all while passing their kids to each other and playing with The Wee One like they’ve known her forever – I could not be more of an Imposter Mom if I tried.

So there I sit, in my skinny jeans, striped designer tee, and sparkly Converse sneaks, standing out like a sore thumb while The Wee One has the time of her life.

Wait. Did Hippie Mom #3 just pull out her tit and start breastfeeding?

I so want to be in the office right now…

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